Your Magic or Mine? (3 page)

He walked around the little circle of open space they were standing in. He couldn’t see even a vestige of a trail leading away. Were they trapped?

A way out had to exist. She had come in, hadn’t she?

He searched again. He was smart. He’d use mathematics to determine her route.

He cast whole equations he remembered from physics and calculating trajectories. He cast
computare limes
to calculate the path. He cast
comperire
to find it.

Nothing worked. He tried being physical instead of cerebral and pulled on leaves and vines in several likely spots. Everywhere he went, plants blocked him, seemed to be growing faster than he could pull them aside, seemed to be reaching for him.

More thunder rolled, reverberated around them, and the feeling of menace grew stronger.

His attempts were doing no good, and his anxiety was increasing. He stopped before her in the middle of the circle. She appeared unperturbed—to such an extent that he wanted to grab her and shake her. Didn’t she realize the evil was approaching?

“We really must go,” he said. “It’s dangerous here.”

She was definitely disgusted, but she gave in. “Oh, all right. Come with me.” She took his hand and led him toward the largest tree.

Right in front of them, the leaves parted to reveal the path.

“Thank God.” He was so relieved to see it he pulled her to him in a hug.

Only when their bodies touched did he discover that he was naked, too.

Her:

He had pulled her into his arms, and she realized they were both naked. Why had she not noticed that before? No matter. How wonderful to feel her skin against his, her soft breasts against his hard chest. She put her arms around him. A hug had never felt this exciting, this right, this blissful.

He ran his hand down her back, pulled her closer, lowered his mouth to hers …

Buuuuzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

As her alarm clock sounded, Gloriana came awake with a jolt, clutching her pillow and almost shaking with arousal. She was practically panting, and her heart beat like she’d run a marathon.

“Wow, what a dream,” she muttered as she hit the button on her clock and flopped over on her back. Maybe she could fall back asleep and recapture the dream. She shut her eyes and concentrated on its last moments.

Just when she thought she’d succeeded, her dog jumped on the bed and pulled the sheet from her.

“Damn, Delilah,” Gloriana said, but the hound only tugged at her big sleep shirt.

“Oh, all right, let’s go for a run.” Muttering about dogs that were too damn cheery in the morning, she headed for the bathroom.

The exercise restored her equilibrium, and she put the crazy dream out of her head. All she remembered was a heated look from pale blue eyes, and even that memory faded by the next day.

Him:

When he pulled her closer, she moaned, lowered her lids over her green eyes, lifted her rosy lips to his …

Mesmerized by the feel of her, he lowered his head to add taste to the mix. Her scent swirled in his nostrils …

And all he could smell was … dog breath.

He fisted his hand in her hair. All he felt was … dog fur.

A wet tongue licked his chin.

He opened his eyes to stare straight into Samson’s red and white face. He was on the edge of his bed clutching the dog’s ruff.

When Samson whined, Marcus let go and levered himself up from the bed. His muscles were tensely knotted, and the power the mysterious woman had in the dream revealed itself in his throbbing erection. He’d have to stretch carefully before his morning run.

Yeah, run. That’s what he’d been doing all night.

He went through his day with a vague sense of unease hovering about him that dissipated by evening. By bedtime, he couldn’t remember what caused it.

No!

No, no, no!
The words banged their way out of her head and into her throat, and Gloriana Morgan clenched her teeth with a snap to stop her thoughts from tumbling out of her mouth.

Her shocked brain persisted in thinking them, however, and added even more behind the dam of her teeth.

No! This man could not be Marcus Forscher
.

For her opponent in their debate of the issues surrounding the working of magic, she’d expected a practitioner so divorced from ordinary spell-casting he couldn’t possibly acknowledge the methods of ordinary mortals. A man with his head so high in the mathematical clouds he couldn’t speak in less than equations, as demonstrated by his articles on the subject. She’d also envisioned either a total math geek—scrawny, thick glasses, disheveled in jeans and a wrinkled button-down shirt, nerdy to the extreme—or an aged professor of the same variety with even thicker glasses and one of those jackets with leather elbows.

Instead, who did she have shaking her hand?

A six-feet-tall, very blond, tanned hunk with a square jaw, an aloof, down-his-perfect-nose gaze, and a slight cool smile. And those eyes—a chilly light blue with a charcoal rim around the irises—he used to inspect her from top to bottom and back before locking his gaze with hers.

The warm clasp of his hand caused even more of a jolt as little zings of energy traveled up her arm and tightened the hold she had on him—or was it the hold he had on her?

“How do you do, Dr. Morgan?” she heard him say in a low deep voice. The hairs on the back of her neck quivered.

Finally one of the zings reached her brain and shocked her mind back to the matter at hand. She unlocked her jaw and managed to force a polite answer past her lips. “Pleased to meet you, Dr. Forscher.”

She carefully pulled her hand from his and let it drop to her side. Her palm still tingled and she fought against rubbing it on her skirt. Oh, God, her skirt. Her usual long, dark green flared skirt that went with her usual light green blouse and usual dark brown suede jacket. Usually worn for lectures in front of fellow botanists. She probably looked shabby—even nerdy—next to his impeccable navy suit and crisp white shirt. She paid little attention to fashion in general, much less the male variety, but his clothes all looked expensive with a capital
E
. At least he wore one vestige of nerd-dom—his red tie, replete with mathematical symbols.

She paused to take a calming breath before she turned to the man standing as the third point of their triangle.

Short, pudgy, balding, rumpled, fiftyish, and tweedy, Ed Hearst looked like what she had imagined for the editor of
W
²
, The Witches and Warlocks Journal
, the publication of record for the magic practitioner community. Part newshound, part scholar, Ed was a man she should not underestimate. His shrewd brown eyes took in an enormous amount of information, his sharp ears caught every nuance in conversations, and his formidable powers of persuasion were responsible for her presence at the event.

Pushing his smudged rimless glasses up his nose, Ed beamed at them like a rabbit eyeing two particularly plump heads of lettuce. “I can’t believe you two have never met in person. The debate has been going on for over a year and a half, and your offices are close by on campus.”

“The mathematics and plant biology departments don’t mix much,” Forscher replied, “and I was a visiting professor at Cal Tech for the last calendar year.”

“I’ve spent a great deal of time in the greenhouses lately,” Gloriana put in. She’d never felt the need to look him up in person. What good would it do? Neither would change their stands on the matter. Why get into a pointless argument? She had better uses for her time.

“I appreciate your cooperation in putting together the event so quickly,” Ed said. “We were fortunate you didn’t have travel plans and the HeatherRidge ballroom here in Austin was available in the middle of March. We certainly couldn’t have this discussion in a place that wasn’t owned and staffed by practitioners. I realize two weeks’ notice was short. Once I get an idea, however, I run with it, and holding the debate at this time will allow us to cover it in the next issue.”

Gloriana kept her attention ostensibly on Ed, but she snuck a peek at the mathematician from the corner of her eye. Was something wrong with the man? He was still scrutinizing her with the most intense gaze—as if she were a type of plant he’d never seen before.

“So,” Ed said, rubbing his hands together, “who wants to go first in the debate?”

“Let Dr. Forscher speak first,” Gloriana said quickly. She needed the time to settle herself down. “His article was the catalyst to the letters.”

“Is that okay with you?” Ed asked him.

Gloriana held in a sigh of relief when Forscher focused that laser-beam gaze on Ed.

“Fine,” her opponent said with a quick nod.

“Then let’s go.” Ed ushered them up onto the raised platform where a table stood with chairs, microphones, and filled water glasses.

Gloriana took the right-hand seat and arranged her notes as Ed sat in the middle and Forscher settled on the other end. She adjusted the microphone in front of her and scanned the ballroom. On this Saturday evening, the large ornate room with crystal chandeliers was filled almost to capacity with a mix of all ages and both genders. She could see her family seated off the middle aisle—her parents, her brother and his wife, and her sister and her husband—and she gave them a smile. Her father grinned and gave her a “go get ‘em” gesture with his fist.

Ed waited until his photographer had snapped a couple of pictures and the audience had settled, and said, “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to our discussion on ‘Spell-Casting: Past, Present and Future.’ I’m Ed Hearst, editor of
W
²
. To my right is Dr. Gloriana Morgan, associate professor of botany, twelfth-level practitioner, and to my left is Dr. Marcus Forscher, professor of mathematics, eleventh-level practitioner. Both teach here at the University of Texas. Their curricula vitae are in the handout you received at the door.

“Last year,
W
²
published Dr. Forscher’s article entitled ‘A Mathematical Basis for Spell-Casting,’ in which he discussed the creation and use of mathematical equations and proof methods for working magic. Thinking in and applying math terms would, he suggested, standardize casting and result in a more efficient and effective process for all.”

A number of people in the audience shifted in their seats, but Gloriana couldn’t tell if they were moving in agreement or opposition to the idea—or simply getting comfortable.

Ed kept talking over the slight disturbance. “That article drew more letters to the editor, both pro and con, than we ever received. When we printed a selection, along with Dr. Forscher’s replies, we received double the first response. The tenor, the enthusiasm, and, yes, the intensity of the correspondents quickly convinced us we had an issue of substance and worth for the entire community. One of the most articulate proponents for maintaining a more traditional view of casting caught everyone’s eye. At our request, Dr. Morgan wrote two articles on the subject, which we ran side by side with Dr. Forscher’s.”

Ed paused to take a sip of water before continuing, “From those debates in print came the idea of bringing the two of them together with other practitioners to discuss the theory and practice of magic. Their respective specialties make them excellent choices for such a discussion since Dr. Forscher’s leads him into mathematic and magical theoretical research and Dr. Morgan’s grounds her literally and figuratively in spells ancient in their origin and practical in their nature.

“We’ll give each of our speakers a chance to express their ideas before opening the session to questions and comments. We’re recording the session. Let’s keep this informal
and
in order, shall we? Dr. Forscher will go first.”

Gloriana picked up her pen to be ready to jot down points she might want to address. Although she had agreed to it, she wasn’t sure she liked the setup at the table, but it had seemed a better choice than having to stand at a formal podium like two candidates running for office. Sitting in a row as they were here, however, she couldn’t see her opponent without leaning way back and even then she couldn’t see his face.

On the other hand, maybe that was a good thing; she didn’t need eye contact on top of the effect of that deep compelling voice. A shiver ran down her spine while Forscher thanked Ed for providing the forum. She made herself sit up straight, take a quiet breath, and ignore the itch in the middle of her chest.
Concentrate on his words, Glori
.

“My ideas and recommendations started, as scientific investigations do, with questions,” Forscher began. “What is at the heart of that which makes us practitioners in the first place? Many would answer, it is the ability to use magic in our everyday work. Given that, how could we practitioners cast better, more effective spells? Refine and understand the process and methods for casting? What factors, elements, go into a spell in the first place? How can we understand a spell mathematically?

“I drew on ancient and present masters for hard data and inspiration. What I learned led me to postulate a basic equation, one that would encompass the casting of every spell. The equation, which some call a formula, is on the back page of your handout.”

Paper rustled as audience members flipped pages. Gloriana did the same. She had not looked at the pamphlet, thinking she already knew what was in it. Another assumption gone bad.

There on the last page was the infamous formula. How sneaky of him to supply it. What was the matter with her? Why hadn’t she thought of printing handouts of her major points for the audience like she would for a class? She mentally shook herself. Not a thing to worry about at the present time. He was still talking.

“I realize,” Forscher said in a self-deprecating tone, “developing the process for the use of the formula moves me from my purely theoretical base into the realm of what some call ‘applied mathematics,’ or mathematics that everyone can use. So be it. My thinking led me to speculate on the nature of magic reality and from there to create the equation, and it became clear that I had a foundation on which to build and from which everyone could benefit. Let’s look at the formula.”